


Firebreather

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blindfolds, Boys in Chains, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fire play, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Slavery, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: Steampunk fantasy!AU Elizaveta wants a wild night out for once, and who better to spend it with than a fighting slave? 2p!Norway x Hungary steamy, kinky and slightly disturbing oneshot-without-much-plot. I don’t own anything but my own craziness.





	Firebreather

**FIREBREATHER**

 

A/N – okay I have nothing to say in my defense for writing this… just needed to get 2p!Norway out of my system. Also, why do I always seem to end up using poor Scotland as supporting cast in all my weird fics? Who knows… 

_Loki – 2p!Norway_

* * *

 

Down here the stale air smelled pungently of smoke, oil and gasoline, old leaking pipes and moldy bricks and Elizaveta inhaled deeply, the crunching of mortar under her heeled boots and the creaky turning of cogwheels sending a pleasant tingling down her spine. Lady Natalya pulled at her hand, leading her deeper into the bowels of the Coliseum, which had been built like a faithful replica of the ancient one, but with a couple of wicked modern twists.  

And this wasn’t because Elizaveta didn’t adore her aristocratic, princely and over-proper husband – no, he was everything to her – but Roderich, the fine, musical, flowery man did not share her occasional appetite for spectacular violence, for the strain of muscles and the clash of blades, for blood, fire and surges of adrenaline that her youth craved when sated of the sheltered, pristine cleanliness of her usual life of luxury. Luckily her friend Natalya Arlovskaya shared her dirty secret and together they had taken to slipping out of the plushy comfort of the palace every now and then to watch the gory fights of the underground world, where the worst common criminals were pitted against one another until death.       

Tonight, Natalya had openly suggested they go one step further in their little search for damnatory, illicit excitement. After all, other noble ladies (and sometimes gentlemen too) were known to indulge in this upon occasion and the masters of the fighting arena were always ready to cater to their whims with the utmost care. The brunette was mortified, if she were to be completely honest, but this very mortification, the sinful dread coiling in the pit of her stomach was juicy, invigorating, it made her feel alive. 

“Good evenin’! Wha’ can I get ye fine dames?”

Elizaveta shrunk a bit under the fiery-haired man’s gaze, even if both she and her friend were wearing tight black lace masks covering the upper half of their faces and the gas torches illuminating the hall were only casting more shadows than light. Her hair was loosely braided and falling over one shoulder, free from the complicated hairdos she would normally wear for Roderich’s pleasure, and the black leather dress, with a shamelessly deep cleavage and short front showing her bare thighs above the silk garters was in sharp contrast with the delicate, diaphanous and exceedingly proper clothing of everyday.  

“I’m still undecided,” the icy blonde beside her replied. “Would like to get a closer look at the stuff before I choose.”

“Wisely put, m’lady,” the man observed and motioned for a boy to step forward as he fumbled with a large set of keys and unlocked the gate leading to the labyrinth of cells spreading behind him. The boy, picking up his own set of keys, motioned for Natalya to follow him inside, while his master turned to Elizaveta with a sly smirk. “And ye, m’lady? Wha’ would make yer pleasure?”  

Unlike her friend, the Hungarian had made up her mind earlier, while watching the evening’s fights. “I want… the _Firebreather_ ,” she said after a deep breath and a nervous lick of lips.

“Hmm… yer sure? He’s a feisty lil bastard, he is.”

Elizaveta only smiled at this - the master of dungeons must have guessed it was her first time down here and had decided to mess with her for the fun of it. That or it was part of the show.

“I would like you to tame him for me, then,” the brunette replied smoothly.

“Aye, m’lady. Ah’m here ta please,” the man confirmed.

He proceeded to take Elizaveta past the gate and down a narrow corridor with stone-walled cells on each side. There were no actual windows but several airshafts letting in glimpses of the blinding lights of the arena above and fewer gas torches, creating a pleasant semi-obscurity and a sense of comfort to the nightly visitor. All the more since all the doors were no more than bare grates offering no privacy whatsoever.  

Shortly afterwards, the master of the dungeons halted his steps and motioned to one of the cells, where a young man sat on the edge of a small cot, busying himself with a cloth over a pile of discarded gear, and the brunette glanced appreciatively at his lithe, rather delicate build and at the caramel-colored bangs shadowing his dainty face.  

“Now ah sure hope ya didn’t leave ‘ís flamethrower handy again, ye blabbering idiots,” the redhead muttered at the lycan guards hovering nearby.

Probably feeling watched by more people than usual, the one nicknamed ‘the Firebreather’ looked up from his work and his eyes of an unsettling shade of purple met Elizaveta’s for a brief second before she quickly hid behind the master of dungeons’ sturdy frame.  

“I don’t want him to see me,” she requested. One could not be too careful when it came to preserving absolute anonymity.

“Of course,” he said and motioned with his head to the guards, while stepping forward to unlock the grated door.

The two lycans all but barged in and kicked the heap of gear aside, grabbing the young man roughly. He tried to struggle, so one of the guards punched him in the stomach for good measure before he was forced down on the bed and they shackled him tightly, wrapping the attached chains around the bed-frame so that he almost couldn’t move at all.

“Do ye want ‘em ta take off ‘is clothes? Clean ‘im up a wee bit?”

“No, it’s fine.” Elizaveta really didn’t mind getting some oil and grime and sweat on her fingers and well… possibly the rest of her body as well.

The master of dungeons waved the lycans off and stepped inside the cell himself, pulling a dark piece of fabric from one of his back pockets which he used to blindfold the slave. His fingers gripped the younger’s chin forcefully as he leaned in to whisper something in his ear, probably a warning to behave, or else.

“Alright, all yers m’lady,” he announced upon returning to the brunette. “No rules, just no significant damage. Anythin’ ye need, gimme a shout.”

With that, the redhead walked away and Elizaveta entered the cell, slightly apprehensive when the guards locked up behind her. She took a deep breath, studying her ‘desert’, as her friend had called it. For a girl bent into traditional obedience the hard way from an early age, to have a man in her power in this fashion, completely at her mercy, was exhilarating. For once she wouldn’t have to display virtuous, prudish unwillingness in matters of the flesh or force a blush upon her cheeks, the young slave’s body was hers to explore and to enjoy leisurely and without judgment. Whatever she desired, he couldn’t say no.

Cautiously, she walked over to the bed, leaning over and observing the slave’s face, his lips slightly parted with still labored breath. There was some black oil smeared onto his forehead and the side of his cheek from earlier when his flamethrower had jammed in combat and he’d had to kick at it wildly (the mishap had nearly cost him his life, too) and Elizaveta’s fingertips trailed over it gently, from the edge of the blindfold up to the roots of his hair.

“What is your real name, _Firebreather_?” the brunette asked.     

“L-Loki…”

Like the Norse trickster god, Elizaveta thought. How fitting… so beautiful and so wicked.

“Well then, Loki, are you afraid?” she taunted, noticing the slight shiver and tension in the slave’s body as she boldly moved to straddle the top of his thighs.

A low chuckle erupted in the back of his throat at this and the corners of his mouth curled up in amusement. “… never, you slut.”

The insult brought an unexpected tinge of excitement, a little resistance – all the more since it was futile – only seasoned the dish and the Hungarian’s fingers moved to grip his soft locks – just above the black, cross-shaped barrette that held them back on one side - and pull his head back brusquely and roughly in response.

“You should be…” she murmured, lips against the shell of his ear. Nimble fingers worked to undo his shirt slowly, button by button, revealing the pale expanse of skin underneath. It looked delectably soft and smooth too for the most part, except for the thin burn scar running from the base of his throat, along the side of his torso, almost down to the hem of his trousers. Still, he was exceptionally beautiful.

“Guess what, little Loki, I have some toys,” Elizaveta taunted, her hand slipping inside her pocket and extracting a small, rectangular-shaped, metallic device, and proceeding to flip the lid up with her thumb. Loki remained motionless and made no sound, yet the brunette saw his Adam’s apple moving as he gulped and his small nostrils flaring in anticipation as she ran her thumbnail over the miniscule cogwheel, eliciting a small creaking sound.  

“Are you cold?” the brunette inquired. “I could make it warmer, if you like. _Much_ warmer… hot even. Would you like that?”  

He smiled. A slow, satisfied smile stretched his mouth, completely cracked. “ _I_ think you’re… all words and no play-”

“I have a lighter,” she cooed. “And I’m going to use it…” Elizaveta’s free hand moved up to his face again and she rubbed her thumb over his plump lower lip. “On you.”

 _Click._ The device sparked up, breaking the darkness and giving the youth’s face a warm, honey hue as she held the miniscule flame next to his cheek, just close enough for him to feel its pleasant warmth.  

“Ja, brenne meg...” Loki whispered softly, helplessly, squirming a bit under her weight.

She would never. Instead, her lips descended gently on his collarbone, kissing where the fire had kissed him, tasting the marred skin and awakening the memory of pains past. Loki gasped again and this time his body obediently arched into her touch as the brunette scooted further down, diligently tracing the scar with her lips.  Teasing him with the small flame was quite the thing though, it took patience and care, it was something… almost akin to love.  

Too bad Elizaveta didn’t have much patience to begin with.

She moved back up, the ‘toy’ discarded hastily on the floor as she gripped Loki’s face with both hands and briefly licked up the tiny beads of sweat nestled above his upper lip before kissing him roughly. Her tongue pushed boldly into the young slave’s mouth, finding his and coaxing it to play.

“Mmmmhh… Jeg vil se deg. Vær så snill!” he murmured, craning his neck up as much as the bonds allowed when the brunette pulled away momentarily. “I want to see you…”

Elizaveta shifted a bit, so that her bare thighs hovered above his waist, and tried her teeth playfully on the shell of his ear. “And… what will you do for that?”

Loki only tilted his head submissively in reply and rolled his hips slowly. _Tempting_. She still had the mask on, it was almost dark, might as well give him a show, all caution be damned. One of her hands traveled south with determination, fingers slipping under the waistband of his leather trousers, while the other moved up to pull away the blindfold, just in time to see his eyes open and widen. Liking what her fingers were discovering down there, she leaned over to study the chains attached to Loki’s shackles, which were wrapped around the bars of the bed frame, deciding to give him a bit of freedom too. Of course, it was dangerous, but a small, deadly dagger was tucked safely in a sheath strapped to her thigh, and she’d put it to use if the Norwegian had a mind to misbehave. With a devious smirk, Elizaveta withdrew her hand to tug the chains loose just enough for him to be able to sit up against the wall and settled comfortably in his lap.  

“Jeg vil se deg,” the caramel-haired youth said again, hands reaching up shyly to tug at her dress, sliding it off her shoulders. Loki had surprisingly delicate hands and soft touch, and the brunette didn’t care that his thin fingers were dirty with oil, getting it smeared down her arms, the side of her neck and eventually her bare breasts.

Elizaveta smirked against his lips, reaching down between their bodies again, with purpose. “Okay, enough foreplay,” she whispered, tugging at Loki’s bottom lip with her teeth and lifting her hips. His short nails dug into her back as the brunette settled into a slow, almost torturous rhythm of movement, and she tugged at his hair again, enjoying the soft feel of it under her fingers. It felt so incredibly good to be in control of that growing pulse inside her body for once and have the young slave helpless under her.

“Mmmmhhh…ahh.. vær så snill ... raskere,” Loki panted with eyes half-lidded now, his whole body tense and shivering against hers. “Faster…”

In reply the Hungarian lowered her head and bit down on the side of his throat hard enough to bruise and leave a lasting mark while she rolled her hips to meet his mostly hindered thrusts, feeling her peak draw near. Damn, she didn’t want this to end so soon! Why was he so good?!

“ _Loki…_ ” Elizaveta breathed out a moment later, throwing her head back as sparks finally exploded behind her closed eyelids and the evil was done.

From now on, every moment of bliss would belong to this night and every single night… she would dream of fire. 

 

**THE END**

Oh, and flame as much as you like because Loki LOVES flames ;)

 Ja, brenne meg = Yes, burn me

Jeg vil se deg. Vær så snill! = I want to see you. Please!

Vær så snill ... raskere = Please… faster

(if you fucked me again, dear Google Translate… I will be extremely disappointed)


End file.
